


Little

by Tomstinkerbell



Series: Little [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Ageplay, D/s, Daddy Dom Tom, Daddy Kink, Dominance, F/M, Fingering, NSFW, Oragasms, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, Spanking, Submission, dd/lg, dominant Tom, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:08:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5561194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomstinkerbell/pseuds/Tomstinkerbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom knows something quite intimate and revealing about the OFC that he'd like to explore more fully.</p><p>OFC is not at all sure that that's a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is rated M for what might happen in the second (next) chapter(s), which I'm about halfway through and may or may not finish, just so's you know - for the moment, this is a one shot.
> 
> WARNING: This is about Daddy Kink, DD/lg, & Ageplay. If any of those things squick you, then you won't want to read this.
> 
> It's a very slow start - there's nothing really sexual in this chapter at all.
> 
> And, if you're at all curious as to which Tom it is that I have in mind for this, it's this one - t-shirt, soft pants, Coriolanus body & hair, minus the gloves, of course:
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://s1008.photobucket.com/user/phillyloo/media/tom1_zpsadms9ghn.jpg.html)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> [source](http://www.celebitchy.com/336044/tom_hiddleston_talks_coriolanus_i_have_to_look_as_if_i_could_lead_an_army/)

"You have a little, don't you?" he asked, standing there in front of me in an old t-shirt and yoga pants - as I lay stretched out on his couch in cotton candy pink pajamas that had cartoon panda bears on them, with a boring, more adultish robe thrown over them - holding out my third drink to me, then curling that muscular arm of his and taking it back as he asked the question, as if he was going to withhold it until I'd answered him.

Tom was a dom. I knew that. I am a sub, he knows that - although that is not all that I am and he does not know that. Our mutual friend Luke was ever so helpful in letting each of us know about the other's proclivities before he'd even introduced us, in hopes of getting us together, although that hadn't happened - and I didn't think that sentence should end in a "yet", either. I didn't see me with Tom. I'm normal looking, he's spectacularly gorgeous. He's exceptionally intelligent, I can't come up with my own name half the time. He's gregarious and social and outgoing, and I'm a very happy hermit who can be quite content to go days without ever leaving the safety and sanctity of my house, without ever seeing another person.

He dances his way elegantly through life, while I spend my time lurching awkwardly from one landmine of a social situation to another, always having to deal with the resulting shrapnel and fallout that is the inevitable result of having done so.

That usual pull of attraction was there on my side - damn, how could it not be? Look at the man, for Chrissakes! But I didn't sense that it was returned in any way - for which I was both deeply grateful and just slightly disappointed sometimes.

But we had become good friends. I had his real cell phone number - and the throwaways, too - but his actual number that he gave his family and close friends. I had arrived within the walls of his inner circle, however surprising it was to find myself there. We weren't in each other's back pockets, though. We had a very casual email conversation going, and sometimes he'd text me, but I almost never initiated anything, figuring he was too busy for the likes of a lightweight such as me, and Lord knows I lived in horror of ever being a bother to him.

Sometimes, when he was home, he invited me over for what became sleepovers, where I knew that I'd end up in his spare bedroom and not his bed, which really was fine by me.

But, as I said, he knew some intimate details about me that I rarely shared with anyone, and I knew a bit about him - we knew we were complimentary to each other in that very private way, although it didn't really mean anything to us since that was not within the parameters of our relationship.

So I was caught more than a little off guard by his question, not that he was wrong, necessarily, although it wasn't something I usually discussed with anyone who wasn't likely to encounter her. And, although I was sorely tempted to put him off and say something funny like, "A little what?", I resisted the impulse.

Instead, I asked warily, "Why?"

He gave me a half smile at my caution and finally surrendered my drink, then sat down in the easy chair to my left as I leaned up against the corner of the couch, and taking a sip of his own. He shrugged. "Just an observation. Sometimes your demeanor, your tone of voice, pings my Daddy Dom radar."

My eyebrow went up. Hmmmm. I hadn't realized that he had Daddy Dom radar, nor had I realized that my little was ever quite that obvious around him. I was going to have to do a much better job of concealing her, if that was the case. 

"Oh?" I asked much more casually than I felt.

There was that smile of his that melted most of me into the couch cushions at a whim - at his whim. "Yes, usually when you've had a bit to drink."

I put my glass down on the coffee table immediately and switched to the bottle of water that was nearby.

"Or a rare unguarded moment - usually of great enthusiasm about something - mostly 'puppehs 'n kiddens'." His spot on imitation of my little's voice in those last three words was alarmingly good - if nowhere near high pitched enough. He could see how uncomfortable I was at his revelation and gave me what I’m sure he meant to be a soothing grin. "Relax. I'm not trying to pry; I'm just curious."

"I'm relaxed," I lied baldy - and badly. Damn good thing he wasn't my Dom!

His eyebrow went up, but at the same time he gave me a sorta soft smile that I'm certain was supposed to be reassuring, but looked a bit wolfish - and more than a little dubious - to me. "No, you're not, but you needn't be so cautious. I hope you know me well enough to realize that you're safe with me - and that she would be safe with me, too."

"Well, at the risk of stating the obvious, it's not something I worry about, since you're neither my Dom nor my Daddy."

His one step forward, my requisite two giant steps back.

He crossed his legs, propping an ankle on the opposite knee, meeting my eyes intently. "Yes, but I find myself curious about her, regardless, because of those glimpses I've had of her."

Terrified - in a sorta good way - about what we were talking about, I couldn't think of anything pertinent to say, so I very carefully shut the fuck up - for once in my life - as my heart tried to pound its way out of my chest.

"Do you think I might meet her?" he asked after a moment, looking at his drink and not me.

At that I choked on a sip of water and sat up, still coughing. "No," I wheezed eventually, once I'd gathered my lungs back into my body.

His eyebrow went up, but otherwise he didn't seem fazed by my answer. "Do you mind if I ask why not?"

I couldn't detect any anger - or even impatience - in his tone, either, which was good. I don't think I would have dealt with it very well if I had. "I - I keep her pretty close. Since I don't have a Daddy, and haven't had for a while, I'm her guardian, and I've made the decision that I won't let her out to anyone who's not going to be a fixture in her life."

"A Daddy," he supplied smoothly, intuitively. "You won't let her out unless the man you're with is willing to be her Daddy."

"Yes. I've had too many friends with littles who just leave them out there all the time, constantly getting hurt multiple times when relationships don't work out, and I've learned from them. I have had very involved relationships with men who had no idea that part of me even existed, because I didn't see that Daddying side of them and I won't expose her to any kind of potential threat to her happiness."

Tom was nodding his head slowly in agreement, then asked, his eyes on mine, "Do you see me as Daddyish?"

Dear God, he was almost too much a Daddy towards me already, and I was just his friend - attentive, supportive, encouraging but protective at the same time, sensitive but firm, funny and loving - he would be the perfect Daddy Dom to an adult little girl.

Although perhaps not me and mine.

"Yes."

"But because we're not in a relationship . . . ?"

"Essentially, yes. I'm not trying to be obstructionist. I just take my obligation to protect her very seriously."

Nodding, he agreed heartily, "I understand, and I support that. She's got to be the most tender, sensitive side of you, and she should be cosseted and kept from harm by any means necessary."

"Exactly."

"Still, I would love to coax her out sometime, if you would trust me to do that."

My heart ached at the thought. Literally ached, so badly it took my breath away for a moment.

It wasn't a matter of trusting him with that part of me. I knew him well enough that I already did, in some ways, or he would never caught sight of her, no matter how drunk or carried away in a moment I was.

But I didn't, in others.

So I had to say what I felt. "I don't think that would be a very good idea."

There was a long pause after I said that, not necessarily an uncomfortable one, while we both listened to the soft music he'd put on in the background that filled the silence.

He caught my eye before posing his next question, voice quiet, but deep and gravelly at the same time. "And what if I said that I'm interested in being her Daddy - would that change your mind?"

I've never felt faint while sitting down before in my life until then. I couldn't even begin to come to grips with that idea, having never allowed myself to fantasize - much - about that eventuality, but the mere thought had my entire body flushing hot.

I opened my mouth to reply but no intelligible words came out, and the weird sounds I was emitting were making him chuckle, so I closed it again. Opening it again a few seconds later yielded nothing at all, which was preferable, but still not good.

The question had largely paralyzed me - mentally and physically. I couldn't do anything else but sit there, couldn't think of anything else, head bowed, staring at hands that were wringing themselves unconsciously, and I knew he was still looking at me in that unnervingly intense way he had.

Suddenly, he rose to stand over me, then bent down and lifted me off the couch to sit smoothly down again in his chair with me on his lap, deftly unfolding the afghan he'd grabbed at the same point from the back of the couch and spreading it over me, tucking it in around my legs and at my chin, cocooning me against the warmth of his body, fencing me in naturally with that ankle again crossed on his knee.

"I should like to coax her out now, if I can," he whispered against the top of my head - which was tucked beneath his chin, before kissing it gently - and I wasn’t sure whether he was asking me or telling me.

And he was already a long way towards it, although I didn't say that.

I shifted just a bit in his arms, and he let me. They were loose around me, but I had a feeling that, if I tried to get up, he wouldn't allow me to.

He reached for something and I heard the music change from his eclectic playlist to something much softer and wordless, that sounded very much like lullabies. Tom reached up to take the scrunchie out of my hair - holding it correctly, grabbing the hair above it, close to my scalp, and pulling it out, so that he didn't hurt me by pulling my hair.

Big points in his favor for not hurting me - her - in a casual way that a lot of men would never have thought about.

Then, with one big, booted foot still on the floor, he set the chair to rocking very gently as his hand rubbed just as slowly, methodically up and down my back.

I don't even have the words to describe how he was making me feel. 

I just know it was totally, thoroughly devastating.

Any illusion of control I might have thought I had over that very fragile, very breakable part of me dissolved as he sat there doing nothing more than that - rocking and massaging - for a very long time. I could feel his slightly whiskey-tinged breath cascading over me, surrounded as I was by the warmth of him, his cologne - along with jus the clean, masculine scent of him - filling my head, and the powerfully potent combination of all of those things achieving his goal more by attrition than any overt measures on his part.

He was just holding me.

And she was there, becoming more and more a part of me whether I wanted her to or not because of his completely non-threatening approach and what she obviously saw as his innately trustworthy nature. At one point, I couldn't stop my hand from reaching out to grip his shirt just where his lapel might be if he was wearing a suit, right over his heart, gathering a bit of material there into my fingers and growing more and more helpless as the older, tougher layers of me were being gently, inexorably pulled away, and needing to just hold onto him, knowing he would recognize my gesture for what it was - a telltale sign of her presence.

I heard him exhale long and low, not having realized that he had been holding his breath, but also no longer in enough of an adult mode to spend any time analyzing what that might have meant.

"There you are," he breathed, his tone the very soft one I had heard him use with small children, he but he didn't say or do anything else besides squeeze me tightly, once, then just continuing to rock and rub, as if he was afraid she'd disappear again if he moved too quickly.

And he wasn't wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Every movement he made was slow and deliberate as he eventually reached for something on the table next to his chair.

I was too far gone, much too little, at this point, to worry about what it might be, thoroughly enjoying how intrinsically secure I felt being held against him like this on his lap.

And then I felt him slowly running a brush through my hair, careful not to pull hard against the curls, and I sank into him - unconsciously - just that much further, with a tiny sigh, and I could tell he was smiling at my unfettered pleasure, even though I couldn't be bothered to lift my head to look at him.

I still held the material of his shirt bunched up in one hand, and part of me knew it was going to end up wrinkled and that he - fastidious as he always was - wouldn't really like that, but he hadn't asked me to give it up, which was good because I didn't think I could any longer. When I was little like this, I needed something to hold onto, and his shirt was as generic as it was going to get. My little was even shier and more reticent and worried about being a bother than I was, much more concerned about rejection, and she wasn't about to assume that it would be okay for me to hold his hand or touch his face.

She wouldn't assume anything - even that it was okay to be there - especially where she was right now - even though he'd put her there himself.

When he'd brushed out my hair, calming me wonderfully with each hypnotic stroke, relaxing me to the point that I was pretty much all little and no adult left to speak of, I heard him put the brush down, but I was totally unprepared for what he did next, nor how it made me feel, Neither action was all that overt, but my reactions were a clear indication of just how sensitive I was to him as a little.

His left hand found my mid-back, palm just below my shoulder blades, his long, wide-spread fingers firmly claiming as much of me as he could, then pressing very slightly, causing me to arch my back just a bit, holding me more surely against his chest as his arm tightened around me in a manner I should have considered constrictive, but, in my regressed state, I instead found marvelously supportive and reassuring.

But it was his right hand that made me wonder if he was clairvoyant - which wouldn't have surprised me in the least - the man could do literally anything else he put his considerable mind and indomitable will to; why not that?

It found my hand - the one that was busily wrinkling his shirt - gently but insistently substituting his own for the fabric, slowly but surely forcing me to accept the small but powerful surrender that was the invasion of his fingers between mine.

I don't know how or why, but I felt as if what he was doing at that moment was at least as intimate an act as parting my legs would have been, and I found myself growing a least as wet as I would have if that had been what he was actually doing.

Then he extended his arm and our hands with it, carrying them to rest on my hip, much too close to my bottom and other intimate parts of me for my own comfort, not that he was touching me there at all yet,

He didn't really have to.

"There now. Isn't this nice, little girl?" he asked, his words and lips warm and soft against my temple.

He'd never called me that before. Believe me, I would have remembered it.

All I could do was nod against his chest, feeling much too raw and exposed to do anything else.

His other hand was now very nearly my undoing, too. He was stroking it down my back - all the way down, from the nape of my neck - beneath my hair - to just past the curve of my bottom, patting me gently, and the first time he did it, I stiffened. I couldn't help it.

"Shhhh," he comforted, leaving his hand at the spot that had caused me such consternation, but not moving it, voice soft and warm and reassuring. "Do you not like having your bottom patted, lovely? I think it's a great way in particular to remind a big girl that she's not as big as she thinks she is, especially not when she's in her Daddy's arms."

He squeezed me then, just a bit.

"And I think your little might like it. There's something very relaxing and reassuring about having Daddy do that, patting one of the parts of you that is the most his, very near your Princess parts, as it is. I think you might like it if I patted your bottom as you fell asleep while lying safe and secure in our bed next to me."

Even my little noted how - as he spoke - he was positing himself as my Daddy, but I apparently didn't care anywhere near enough to call him on it.

What he was talking about sounded amazingly wonderful, although I'd never had a Daddy do that for me - touch my bottom as a method of comforting. Not that I was against trying it - I was just still - always - going to be amazed that it was with him - that this was something he wanted to do for me.

Tom patted me there again, gently, deliberately for a long moment before his hand travelled back up and down again, and this time, when his hand claimed my behind more fully, I managed not to tense, although there was still a sharp intake of breath I couldn't prevent. I didn't think I'd ever get used to him touching me like this. The feelings he inspired were much too acute - even the non-sexual ones! - to live through, I was quite sure, even though he again did nothing more alarming than firmly cupping and gently patting me there.

And yet, all at once, I felt everything from points beneath my navel to the area his hand was covering relax to a frightening extent, and I instantly became even more acutely aware of just how thoroughly my body was responding to him. Every bit of that area began to throb wantonly, and every pat of those long fingers against my bottom - so close to other, even more sensitive spots - only inflamed me that much further.

I should have known he would have noticed even that subtle reaction.

"That's it, babygirl. You can relax. There's no need for you to have your guard up around me," he crooned.

"Not a baby," I insisted, but in a shy, tiny whisper, a tentative echo of my little's voice.

He kissed my forehead slowly, his hand coming up to cup my cheek - and, because his hand was so big, he also got my jaw almost to my chin and well past my ear, stroking the side of his thumb against my skin, then brushing my hair back gently.

"You're not?" he asked, voice full of quiet curiosity. 

I shook my head "no" as strongly as I could within the luscious confines of his hold on me.

"You know I would be perfectly OK if you were that little, right? You can just be who you are with me and I'll take care of you," he reassured. "In fact, if you decide to let me be your daddy, being yourself around me at all times will be a very important rule. A primary rule, like no lying or putting yourself down in any way."

There was no way to prevent how I automatically swallowed hard at just the idea of him making rules for me. It was too much to take in, too much to comprehend.

Too good to be true, I thought, but so desperately wanting and needing it anyway.

And, from there, it was a very short leap to the mind-bending idea of him actually enforcing them . . .

More shaking "no."

Still stroking and massaging me slowly, he asked, a smile in his tone, "No - you're not that little, or no - you don't like the idea of that rule?"

"Yes," I whispered.

He chuckled softly. "Well, the first instance is okay - like I said, I want you to feel free to be you around me - to be whatever age you're feeling at the time. But in the second place, I'm afraid rules aren't something you have a choice about, little one. They're there in Daddy's stead to help you feel safe and loved and looked after, even when he's not where he most wants to be - which is always right next to you." 

I couldn't help but squirm at that thought - at the idea that he thought that way about me. I'd had a few - very few - men I'd trusted to be my Daddy before, and I could already tell that none of them were going to be like Tom would be.

If I said yes.

"I can already tell, though, from knowing your big, that you're a very well-behaved little girl."

I nodded with great enthusiasm at that wonderful - if somewhat wishful - assessment of my character and he laughed as his other hand, still on my hip, began to play with my fingers absently.

"So you probably won't need very many rules, you're so well-behaved." He hugged me tightly to him then, whispering against my head, "I'm so proud of you already, darling girl."

Moving as far away from him as he would allow, I gave him an incredulous look. He was proud of me? The very idea left me breathless, that this highly accomplished man would say such a thing about me, who had done so little with her life in comparison.

He frowned a bit at my expression. "I don't like seeing doubts and incredulity in your eyes that I do right now." But just when I began to think that that was a criticism of me, he took the responsibility for my reaction onto himself. "It means that I haven't been telling you that enough." He gathered me tightly to him again. "As I was saying, I'm already so incredibly proud of you that, if you decide to grant me the privilege and honor of being your Daddy, all of those straining buttons you're always teasing me about would most definitely burst."

Shaking my head, I buried my face against his neck, not wanting him to see my unbecoming neon blush.

But he wouldn't allow me to hide it from him, catching my chin and moving me away from him so that he could look me in the eye while he said, "I am - very, very proud of you. I know you came from nothing, and that makes your achievements even that much more incredible. You got your degree at night, while working full time, got your masters while doing the same, you're steadily climbing the corporate ladder - your year end reviews are always glowing.

"Not to mention that you're smart and funny and kind and loving - how could I not want to know and guide the little version of you, who I'd be willing to bet is all of those things, but with an even bigger dose of the insecurities and doubt and lack of self worth that your big has learned to hide from most people."

Damn, he already knew both sides of me better than most people who had known just one side of me for twice as long - because he actually bothered to really get to know his friends. He wasn't one of those self-absorbed people who turned every conversation into one about themselves. He always actually listened to me, empathizing in the right places, making insightful comments and suggestions, but also not trying to solve the problem for me, but rather with me, offering solutions then backing the fuck off to let me decide what choice to make, always better informed and more confident in myself for having spoken to him.

"How long has it been since you've had a Daddy's love and attention, little one?" he asked softly, running his fingers lazily through my hair.

"Years," came the eyes downcast whisper. "Eight years."

Tom sighed deeply, squeezing me tight. "Oh, my darling, I'm so sorry that no one else has bothered to look past the façade to this most tender part of you that needs looking after the most. Littles need to have Daddies. Any time a little girl can't remember how strong and competent and worthy she is, that's when Daddy steps in to remind her with loving, honest praise. Any time she has doubts about herself or her abilities, or thinks there's something she can't do, he's there to bolster and support her." Then, with the slightest drawl, "And he's right there if she feels down, too, like life's whippin' her butt - and that's not at all right." His voice lowered an octave, I swear, before he rasped, "Because Daddy's the only one who can whip her butt when she needs it."

My protest was no less vehement for the fact that it was only murmured, "NO!"

Tom tucked my head back beneath his chin firmly. "Daddies are there to praise and support and bolster her, yes, but also - and just as important, maybe more so - to correct her when she's naughty - disrespectful or disobedient - which is really redundant because disobedience is inherently disrespectful.

"As much as you might not like the idea, it's the firm, consistent discipline that makes you feel safest, knowing that your Daddy is always watching over you and will always hold you accountable for your behavior - lovingly, but strictly." He paused there, then rasped, "You'll never be surer of my love than when you're over my lap getting your bottom blistered."

The L word. Dear God, he'd used the L word! He'd never said it before in conjunction with me.

"Love?" I asked, my big coming to the fore as I sat up on his lap to look down at him, which was an interesting experience in and of itself because he was so tall I was always looking up at him, even when he was sitting next to me.

He gazed back at me unflinchingly, although I could see the high color in his cheeks. "Yes. Love." There was that lethal, rueful smile of his. "I guess I should have led with that, huh? I've loved you for a long time as a friend, but recently its become much more than that, which is why I asked you about your little this evening rather than just letting us Netflix ourselves to death like we usually do."

Tom leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine with exquisite tenderness. "I love you. It's okay if you don't feel the same way yet; I just wanted to get it out there so you'll know that all of this is coming from a place of love.. I think it's important for your little to know that the man who wants to be her Daddy already loves her - that she doesn't have to do anything or be anything - other than what she is - to earn that love. She - you, all of you, big, little and in-between - already has it."

Shocked to my core and trying not to let him see it, which I'm not at all good at doing, especially when I'm little, I buried my face against his chest, grabbing for a handful of his shirt again, not knowing what to say to him in the face of his confession.

And he let me. He didn't apply any sort of pressure to try to get me to say the same thing back to him. He didn't force me out into the open in any way, but rather wrapped his arms around me again and simply held me, as I was - confused, feeling a little ambushed but not unflattered by what he'd said, and, as always, despite his assurances, insecure and not wanting to cause anyone - especially him - any trouble.

After a long while of merely holding me, his hands constantly massaging me or patting me, his lips often pressed into the hair at the top of my head, he murmured, "You're very quiet. Have I bored you into falling asleep?"

I shook my head.

"Terrified you, so that you want to run screaming from me, never to be heard from again?"

Smiling, but more head shaking.

"I've been doing all the talking, babygirl," he said, lifting my chin so that I had to meet those kind blue eyes of his. "Which you know I am wont to do. Won't you let me hear your beautiful little voice?"

Blushing again - still - yet - I answered him out loud for the first time as my little. "How would you know that my voice is beautiful when you've never heard it before?"

His big smile was worth any potential embarrassment I might have felt at just how high-pitched and young I sounded. "Because you're other voice is quite beautiful, too, of course." Then he gave me an intent look, if a softer one that he ever had. "What do you think of all of this, hmmm?"

It was very like him not to just ask me point blank if I wanted him to be my Daddy, because he wanted to know not just that, but about everything around that, too - how I thought, what I felt - everything, I knew. Unlike a lot of men, he wouldn't grow bored or angry that I was talking about my feelings. I already knew that about him.

I leaned on my side against him, fingers picking at then tracing over then out and out twisting the material of his shirt around them while he clasped his hands on my hip and simply waited patiently for me to speak.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the update on this taking so long. Like the Pwince Woki story, it's been written for while but mid-January in particular is a very busy time for me and I got O.B.E. - add to that my tendency to want to tweak things endlessly . . .
> 
> This is all I have written, though, so the next update might be at least as long in coming.

And I wasn't at all good under pressure.

Focusing on the way my fingers were fidgeting with his shirt, I replied with severe hesitation, "I - I don't really know how I feel about . . . all of this. One moment we were just going to have a normal night as friends together, as we've done hundreds of times before, and now . . . I don't know what I should say - what you want me to say?"

"No, darlin'." His hand covered mine, squeezing just slightly. "This isn't about what I want. I've already told you what I want - which is every bit of you I can get - including your little self. I want to hear what you - liddlest you - thinks about what we've been discussing."

"I am my liddlest me," I said, slightly defensively, stiffening a bit from the purely relaxed state I'd been in with him. "Just because I don't use baby talk doesn't mean I'm not little."

"That's not what I meant, angel," he returned patiently. "I can hear the change in your voice and see and feel the differences in your demeanor. I know you're little right now, and I can't tell you how honored I am that you trust me enough to be this way with me, even though I'm not - yet - officially your Daddy." I definitely noticed his decidedly reluctant use of the qualifier "yet". "I don't care what kind of words you use or don't use. You don't have to prove your existence to me; I know you well enough to recognize the differences between you two."

I was thoroughly reassured by his words and the calm, firm way he delivered them. "I just want you to tell me how you're feeling about all of the things we've -" he blushed brightly "- well, more accurately, I've been talking about. And, if you think it's a terrible idea, you can tell me that, too. I will always want you to say exactly what's on your mind - respectfully, of course," he warned. "I don't much like adults swearing every other word - I don't like to hear littles swearing it at all." 

Oh, dear. And me with a mouth like a sewer . . . I could see that that wasn't going to go well in future - depending on how I decided.

. . . I found it intellectually interesting, too, that I was still trying to tell myself that I had a choice here . . . 

Was I really going to turn him down when he already represented everything I wanted in a man, much less a Daddy?

He took my hand and kissed the back of it, then stared into my eyes. "Also, I want to be sure you realize that your big and I will still be friends - and maybe even more, I hope - no matter what you say, and I hope that we'll still be friends, too, because, since you don't have a Daddy, I'll probably want to see you every once in a while, just to make sure you're okay and that you're behaving."

Even if I told him that I didn't want him actively Daddying me, he still wanted to kind of Daddy me? Was I hallucinating, or what? Had I died and gone to Heaven?

So, after a moment of trying to gather my wits around me and failing miserably, I mindlessly blurted out the question that was foremost on my mind at that moment. 

"Do I have to decide tonight?"

He apparently hadn't considered that I might not - I'd caught him by surprise, which wasn't necessarily an easy thing to do with a man who had a mind like his.

"Well, no, I suppose you don't, do you? Is that what you want - not to have to make the decision tonight?"

"Yes, please." I said it so quickly I think he got the correct impression that this whole situation was stressing me out a bit.

"That sounds like a very smart idea," he said, hugging me gently. "I've kind of thrown all of this at you very all of a sudden, haven't I? And little girls - and their bigs - should take all the time they need to think about such an important decision as who they want to be their Daddy."

I was nodding my head vehemently in agreement, my head on his shoulder as he went back to patting and rubbing.

"But -"

My head shot up and I looked at him a bit distrustfully, I think.

But, by way of explanation he said, "Well, you don't have a Daddy, and I bet you miss lots about having one, huh?"

I was nodding again, whispering, "Lots and lots."

"And what is it that you miss, my angel?" he asked, sitting back and encouraging me to lean back against him while I answered, which I did. He was kind of irresistible - all safe and warm and snuggly - 

"Snuggles! And surprises! And . . . and being read to at bedtime and sleeping next to y -him, and always - almost always - feeling safe."

He'd been smiling at everything else I'd said, paying avid attention to my responses and smiling indulgently at the way I corrected myself, but I also saw him look a little concerned at my "almost always feeling safe", although it was gone in a flash, although I would have been willing to bet anything that I'd be asked about it at some point in the future. Tom didn't miss much.

"Anything else?"

"Going places - like the movies - where I can be little and no one cares, and coloring next to him while he's working . . . " I blushed furiously, whispering, "And special time with him."

Tom nodded in agreement with all of that. 

I opened my mouth to say something more, then closed it quickly.

And, of course, he noticed. "What were you going to say, sweetie?"

I shook my head, burying my face against his neck.

"No, honey, what you just stopped yourself from saying to me is exactly what I want to hear from you." He held my hand and tightened his arm around me. "Is there anything I can I do to help you feel safe enough with me to say it?"

"It's not that I don't feel safe with you - " I bit my lip, then said in a whisper so quiet it was almost inaudible "I think I feel safer - right now, with you - than I've ever felt with anyone else in my life, both my little and my big."

I heard him gasp softly in surprise, then he kissed the top of my head reverently, sounding somewhat choked up when he answered. "That makes me very, very happy, my love. Truly. Thank you. I will always do my best to live up to any amount of trust you might have in me and I will always do my best to make you feel safe and loved and happy."

"Welcome," I said automatically.

After a few minutes, he prompted gently, "And?"

I sighed. He was relentless when he wanted something, and he was about to let me off the hook. He wanted to hear what I hadn't said.

And I told him, because I did feel ultimately that secure with him. "I just - the things I told you - that I missed from when I had a Daddy?"

"Yes?" I could feel his rapt attention on me.

I fidgeted a little, but managed to get out, "Those aren't necessarily things I miss - they're also things I want with a Daddy, that I haven't necessarily ever had."

"I understand completely. Kind of a wish list, huh?"

"Exactly!"

"Thank you for being a brave girl and telling me that. I'll definitely work on fulfilling that wish list for you - it sounded like very normal stuff for you to want from your Daddy."

Who might well be him. Tom.

Tom being my Daddy.

I shuddered lightly at the thought - in a good way - and he pulled the afghan up over us more, obviously thinking I was cold.

"Those wishes kind of go hand in hand with the reason why I said 'but'." He took a deep breath and plunged in. "I think that, while you're doing all that pondering about whether or not you might like to have me as your Daddy permanently, we might want to try it on for size, hmmm? It's such a very important step - perhaps we should see if it's a good fit - maybe you won't like me being Daddyish with you. Maybe I'll chafe you - like new, too tight trainers," he joked. "And maybe you - with all you wanting bedtime stories and your boo-boos kissed and making me snuggle you all the time - the horror! - will plain drive me crazy," he said, feigning disgust at the idea of doing all those things.

I giggled at his teasing, but still played a bit with his fingers a little nervously. "So, we'll try it out first?"

"If you want to, darlin'," his eyes narrowed a bit and he grew serious. "I want your eyes on mine while I say this." He waited for me to sit up and find his baby blues. "Before you agree to anything, I want you to know some things about how I'll approach being your Daddy. This isn't a pretend situation to me, nor will it ever be. This is not role-play or acting in any way to me. You know that I take all of my responsibilities very seriously, and this one skyrockets past everything else in my life, hands down. But trial period or not, I'm not going to change how I am - how I will be - with you. I'll be the same Daddy today, during a trial period, that - if we decide that this works for us - I will be to you in two years or ten years or a thousand years."

He cleared his throat. "Which means that there will be rules that you will be expected to follow, things like there an established bedtime so that you get at least eight hours of sleep every night."

My eyes bugged, and I knew he thought that was in protest, and I wasn't about to tell him, but rules were something I had always secretly wanted - even the bedtime part. I already knew that he thought I was perpetually functioning sleep deprived – he occasionally chastised me gently about my atrocious sleeping habits – going to bed late, getting up early, and being exhausted all of the time because of it.

His eyes narrowed and he looked at me speculatively. "And speaking of that, as an aside - and I think I should have thought to ask you this earlier - you've said you're not a baby, but how old are you? Or in what age-range are you? I would bet it varies, depending on how you're feeling at the time."

Damn, he was good!

My impish little kind of wanted to know just how good. "Guess!" I challenged.

Tom leaned a bit away from me, his eyes running over me like hands, although he spent most of the time looking at my face. He tapped his finger on his lips pensively, as if he was considering his answer very carefully.

"I would say . . . that you're anywhere between three and five, older when you're happier, younger when you're scared or sick or hurt, and usually in the middle, about four or so."

"Right! You're good!" I complimented, and he bowed his head in acknowledgement of my praise.

"Thank you - I just wanted to be sure that my impression of you was right, but we're not done with our discussion." Tom continued, "Although I will be taking care of you, there will still be some small, daily, age-appropriate chores. And I will keep a close eye on you - you might not like that much with your anti-social tendencies - we'll see."

He was right to be concerned. I am pretty antisocial as an adult. But I'm very pro being looked after when I'm little - the more attention, the better, frankly, whether I seem to want it or not. 

"I'm not going to be afraid of doing things that I consider to be for your own good, even if you don't necessarily agree with them. You're my little girl - sometimes my very little girl - and I will do for you as I see fit, always with a mind to what's best for your overall happiness, if not, perhaps, your happiness at that particular moment." He cleared his throat in a manner that seemed a bit nervous, to my surprise. "So," he took hold of my chin, "what do you think will happen, peanut, if you don't do your chores or you disobey one of your rules?"

I knew what he was going to say, and didn't have to think about my response in the least.

"No!" I protested automatically, trying to move away from him and to wrest my chin from his hold, but he easily kept me exactly where he wanted me.

And then Tom reached down and patted my bottom - much more firmly and deliberately than ever before, and I swear I very nearly orgasmed all over him just from that. The things we were discussing were just that powerful to me, on many different levels, but most definitely a very visceral, carnal one.

I don't know how he did it, but he managed to sound very reluctant. Must be all of that acting training, although I would hate to think that that was all it was. "Oh, yes, honey, I'm afraid so." When I would have looked down, he kept possession of my chin and my eyes on his. "And I do not spank lightly - I don't treat it lightly, and I don't do it lightly. You will be red and sore and stinging for long after every, single punishment - possibly for days, depending on how easily you bruise, what you've done, and what implement I decide to use to correct you."

It struck me that it would have been very easy for him to have tried to influence me into agreeing to him being my Daddy by suspending punishments entirely for the trail period, so that he could just be a Disneyland Daddy. But Tom wasn't like that. He wanted me to experience every aspect of me being his adult little girl - those I would consider fun, and those I had a feeling I would consider not very fun at all - so that I could make an informed decision about whether or not he would be the right for me as a Daddy.

"H-how long will we practice?" I asked, and Tom chuckled.

"That's an interesting word choice, lovely - and very appropriate, I think. And my answer is that it will always be practice - I will be tweaking things as we go along in our life together, making adjustments based on your needs as I observe them, and checking in with you regularly - talks just like this, where we're both relaxed and there's no rush and we can really discuss how we're feeling and you can tell me if there's any need or want you have that I'm not addressing - although you can always talk to me at any time, about anything. I'll just want to touch bases with you every once in a while, just to make sure everything's good between us."

I nodded, but giggled at the same time, feeling brave enough to tease him, "That was a very nice - long - answer, but it didn't tell me how long the trial period would be?"

He grinned, blushing becomingly, of course. "Well, you know I’m always going to be long winded - it's one of my many faults."

I snorted loudly at that.

"I don't know - three months or so?"

Wow, I thought, then said out loud, "That's long!"

"I know, but I want to do it long enough that it becomes familiar to you - to the both of us. So that you're pretty much always little around me, and our life together becomes a comforting routine - " his voice became very low and slow and hypnotic, "that it's automatic for me to gently wake you up in the morning - perhaps with my mouth in an very sensual spot - and, afterwards, dress you - if you want me to do that for you - then bring you out to the kitchen and make you a good, healthy breakfast - perhaps even feeding it to you? - before sending you out into the cold, cruel world to slay the corporate dragons without me at your side. I want it to be routine for me to check in with you throughout the day, just to make sure you're doing okay, with an email or a text or a phone call - or, at first, probably, all three.

"And having you check in with me when you get home - 'cause you'll get home before I will, probably, most nights - so I know you're home safe, reminding you to do your chores and behave until I come home. I want us to have dinner together - which I'll cook because you're too little - most nights as a rule - sometimes eating at the table like real people and sometimes eating on the couch in front of the TV, snuggled together, watching something we both like, which will probably be something that appeals to littlest you a lot of the time. And if I still have work to do, I'll want you to be playing quietly next to me - or very near me - so I can keep a loving, watchful eye on you.

"When it's bedtime, I'll pick you up -"

I must've looked quite alarmed at that idea, and I think I might have even snorted, because he stopped his little recitation of an ideal day in our lives if he became my Daddy and gave me a quizzical look. "What?"

"Well, Da - Tom, I love the idea of you carrying me anywhere and everywhere - it's - it's a very powerful concept to my little and it would be very daddyish of you to do so, but I'd rather not having to spend the days and weeks afterwards by your bedside with you in traction in the hospital."

I was completely unprepared for the stinging swat he delivered to the backside, that, up 'til then he'd been lazily patting. I felt it quite acutely, despite the undies and the panda bear pajama bottoms and the ugly robe that all should have served as some sort of protection or padding against that one swat making that much of an impression.

But the layers of clothing between his big palm and my rump might as well not have been there. 

Uh-oh.

Gulp.

What would an actual spanking from him be like? I shuddered to think, having been given that short, sharp preview.

"And that right there - that's your second primary rule," he said in a very low, no-nonsense manner. "No putting yourself down in any way. I simply won't have it. Am I making myself absolutely understood, little one?"

My entire body tingled at his firm tone. My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry, but somehow I managed to answer, "Y-yes, Sir."

"Good girl." He smiled down at me softly. "And I'll remind you, that I lifted you onto my lap a few minutes ago with no trouble at all," he growled, then drew a deep breath. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. When it's bedtime, I'll pick you up and carry you into the bathroom and put you in a bubble bath to bathe you –“

My entire body flushed hot at those words. He was going to bathe me! I didn’t think I’d live through it!

But he was still talking. “ – then I’ll dry you carefully in the warm bathroom and put you in pretty, little girlish pajamas before carrying you into our bedroom -"

I squeed inwardly just at the phrase "our bedroom".

" - and tuck you into our bed,"

Another - even louder – internal - squee.

" - and read you a story or sing you a song, and then hold you - spooned or with your head on my chest - in whatever position you prefer - with soft lullabies on in the background, until you fall asleep."

I could hardly comprehend how he'd totally just described what would be my utter bliss. My eyes were closed as I imagined it all - just as he described - in my head.

And it was pure, unadulterated Heaven.

"D -Tom?"

I felt him smile at me continuing to correct myself when I knew he didn't think I really needed to. "Yes, baby?"

"Everything you've described sounds . . . well, it sounds like Paradise, frankly."

One hand reached down to caress my bottom lightly while the other cupped my cheek, fingers delving into my hair. "I agree completely," he sighed, pressing his lips to mine and kissing me tenderly, but with great passion, although I could sense that he was still holding himself firmly in check in order to treat me so gently.

It wasn't a long kiss, but it was devastating even in its short duration.

"Does - does that mean that I'd be moving in here, even if it's just practice?"

"Most definitely. From the moment you tell me that you want to give it a try, I'll want you right by my side as much as is humanly possible. Keep your apartment for as long as you feel you need to, and I will look fervently forward to the day you tell me that you know you no longer want or need it."

I stiffened a bit, thoughts - mostly of the overwhelming practicalities of blending our lives like this - flooding my mind and adding considerably to my stress level. "Wow. I - this is just so . . . so amazing, but totally unexpected and, honestly, very overwhelming . . ."

He frowned a bit. "I'm sorry that it feels that way to you. But then, I'm a ways further down the road than you, because I've been thinking about this for a while. It's been an ache in me that I couldn't quite soothe, an emptiness that I desperately wanted to fill with you and me, in this kind of deeply intimate relationship. You're already the first thing on my mind when I wake up each morning, and the last thing I think about before I fall asleep, my heart and my mind and my body yearning for you to be right here, in my arms, all day." He carefully adjusted himself a bit, and how I was sitting on his lap, so that I was stretched out a bit more than I had been, my head resting further down his shoulder and my body more open to him.

"But I don't want you to worry or stress over this at all, okay? I want it to happen as naturally as it possibly can. I want us to fall into it. I'm naturally dominant - with a strong Daddy side - and you're naturally little with a strong submissive side. I think the two - I think we - compliment each other really well, and I don't think it'll take as much adjustment as you might think it would.

"For now, until you want more from me - "

"Oh but I do," my little piped up before I had a chance to think about it, or, more probably, rein her in completely. I knew I shouldn't have said it, for all the reasons I'd listed before, but my little just couldn't turn down the exquisite vision he'd painted for her of what life as his adult little girl would be like. 

She wanted - needed - that in her life too much not to grab at it when it was dangled so enticingly in front of her.

Tom froze - I could feel his entire body tense beneath me. "You do what, angel?" he asked, and I knew he wanted things to be very clear between us, so that there were no misunderstandings.

It took me a long moment, and Tom was wonderfully patient with me, massaging and patting me soothingly, pressing his lips to my temple and stroking my hair until I felt I could say what I needed to say to him.

"I want to try, please," I whispered huskily into his chest as my hand crept up to grasp mindlessly at his shirt again. "I want it so badly I'm in physical pain just thinking about it."

He drew me in for a very tight hug, his breath and his words flowing over me like a balm to my tattered, beleaguered soul. "Oh, my very dearest one, I cannot begin to tell you how happy it makes met to hear that this is something you want just as badly as I do. It's a very raw, very primitive need, isn't it - on my side to ensure that you're safe and happy and that you feel my love every second of every day, and you to be taken care of, paid attention to, and tended to by a loving Daddy - by me," he corrected, with no small amount of pride.

"Yes, Sir," I answered softly, my tongue getting in the way with all of those "s's" so it sounded as if I almost lisped.

I heard him draw a quick breath. "I like it when you call me 'Sir', babygirl, but I'll like it even better when you call me 'Daddy', although I'm not asking you to do that right now. As I've said I want this to be as organic as possible. You begin to call me that when you feel it's right for you to do that, and not a moment before, okay?"

I nodded, knowing that moment was probably an embarrassingly short amount of time away.

"Good girl."

Those two simple words, too, were wonderfully soothing and supportive, and I liked how free he was in using them with me already.

Slowly, I found myself back in the position into which he'd put me moments before, stretched out over him, although still on my side. Then he kissed me, deeply, hungrily, and I felt that iron control slip a bit as the hand that had become so familiar with my bottom began to grip it more firmly, squeezing flesh that I felt was entirely too ample, although he didn't seem to agree.

And then as he held the back of my head in his other palm, watching me intently as he did so, as its partner wandered boldly around to my front.

I could barely recognize his voice when he spoke, it was so guttural and husky. "Tell me, babygirl, when the last time was the last time you were made to dance on your Daddy's fingertips?"

There was no way to be coy about what he was asking, and no way to be coy about how my body was responding to his question, either. I tensed beneath his hands, although neither of them was in a particularly intimate spot on my person.

Yet.

"Eight years," I breathed on a sigh, my entire body stiff and tense in anticipation of his hand moving to places that at once craved his touch and wanted to run from the likely intensity of it.

He looked surprised. "Jesus. You haven't . . . since your last Daddy?"

I closed my eyes - I couldn't look at him, feeling somehow ashamed for a reason I couldn't put my finger on. "Yes, Sir."

"You weren't looking, dating - doing anything in all that time? I'm not criticizing in any way, I'm just curious. I want to know everything about you, and this seems important."

I gave an embarrassed shrug. "After my last one, I decided . . . I kind of decided that I couldn't really have one - a Daddy, that is - that I didn't really . . . deserve one - I guess - at least, not a good one. So I stopped trying - I stopped settling for less than she - less than I - deserved."

Tom became unusually still and tense beneath me, asking in a tone I'd never heard from him before, one full of the potent promise of violence depending on my answer, "Did he hurt you?"

I don't think I'd ever heard such blatant testosterone in one question before.

"No - he wasn't abusive in any way," I quickly reassured him. "He just - I think the novelty wore off for him, and she - I - that aspect of me - became too much work - more work than he was interested in doing. Being a Dom is one thing - it's a very high level of responsibility for the other person, and good Doms take that responsibility very seriously, as I'm sure you must. But being a Dominant Daddy is to be just that much more responsible for your submissive, because that isn't all she is - it's probably isn't even primarily what she is." I thought about it for a minute. "My ex just wasn't what is best for a little - he knew what I needed, but he couldn't be a committed, consistent Daddy. Remember I said that I'd decided to keep my little away from anyone who might potentially hurt her?"

He nodded, and I knew he was hanging on my every word. 

"Well, he was just the last straw. He was very enthusiastic in the beginning, but my little ended up being neglected, and feeling as if she was a bother and a burden, neither of which could she tolerate. So, after him, I just stopped putting her - putting myself - out there altogether."

"Which was a very smart move, although you must've felt so lonely, my lovely." He hugged me tight. Then he sighed, long and low. "So you've had to take care of yourself in that way, too, for much too long a time." He pressed his lips to my forehead, lingering there for a long moment. "Well, no more. From now on, you are not to touch yourself in that special way unless you have permission from me to do so. Yes?"

Frowning a bit, which made him almost smile, I answered, "Yes, Sir."

That was a rule I hadn't seen coming.

Pun not intended . . . necessarily.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write this, but I had a bit of a block there for a little while.
> 
> I don't know what else to say, really, besides I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> There is one more chapter after this, which I hadn't really expected, and the chapter itself went a lot differently from what I would have thought, but, well . . . we'll see what you think when it gets posted.
> 
> Anyway, feedback (positive and negative - as long as it's respectful) is always welcome.

And, as I was coming to expect from him, he said earnestly, “And I want you to work on believing that you do deserve a Daddy – a good one that loves you and cares for you and makes you a priority in his life.”

Unfortunately, his sincerity did not translate into my ability to put aside my insecurities, so, looking down at his chest, I nodded slowly, knowing that was an unlikely scenario at best, mumbling an unenthusiastic, “I’ll try.”

I think he recognized how doubtful I was being, but he still encouraged me. “Good girl. I’m not perfect, but I will do my best to do all of those things for you, and more.”

He was the most perfect human being I’d ever met, and in some ways that was marvelous, and in other, more unfortunate ways, it just served to heighten my ever present feelings of being a complete and utter slacker schlubb that were bad enough around normal people, but were increased exponentially simply by him being who he really was.

But I had no time to dwell on that, as I normally would, when he carefully adjusted the big hand that was holding my head so that his fingers were firm at the back of my neck, while that long thumb lay just behind my ear, holding me so that I had no choice but to look up at him. It was his only point of outright control over me. As our eyes collided, I heard him take a deep breath that he then whispered roughly over me, “I want to see those pretty eyes of yours while I touch you for the first time.”

I couldn’t help it – my entire body tensed, as if I thought he was going to hurt me, which I knew was the furthest thing from the truth. I did my best to relax as much as I could as that enormous free hand of his that had been resting on my hip began to move - slowly but purposefully – upwards, which kind of surprised me, although I should have known better with Tom.

He wasn’t one to be too predictable.

Instead, he reached for the loosely tied belt of my robe, pulling it apart and helping me slough it a bit off my shoulders, revealing my choice of childish pajamas, which still had me kind of cringing a bit inwardly, despite the fact that he was now my Daddy.

“These are new,” he said, glancing at them then back at me.

I was amazed that he recognized that fact. “I just got them a month or so ago – how did you know that?” I couldn’t keep myself from asking.

One side of his mouth went up in an endearingly lopsided grin. “I think I know most of your pjs by now. I’ve seen various Tinkerbell iterations pretty frequently, and hearts and puppies and bunnies and kittens each a couple of times, cupcakes only once, but never pandas.”

Dear God, the man actually paid attention to what I wore when I slept over with him, even though I wasn’t in his bed! If I’d known that, I would have - . . . 

Probably done absolutely nothing different, I guess. It wasn’t as if I was suddenly going to appear before him in a negligee. That’s not my style at all. I don’t even own a negligee.

I gulped painfully when I realized that he’d just described every pair of jammies I owned, with the exception of my footie ones, which were so blatantly little that I’d never had the guts to wear them in front of him. I was wholly incapable of being anything but little in them, so I would never have brought them over here.

But still, I couldn’t get over my amazement at the intimate details he’d catalogued about me without my noticing.

That was, until his hand began to move – fingertips tracing over me with the gentlest of touches, following the contour of my collarbone, then up the slope of my breast, the barest tip of his index finger finding and cresting my peaked nipple even through the fabric.

I couldn’t help it. I closed my eyes on a loud sigh.

Only to be gently chided for having done so. “No, my darling. What did I say about your eyes?”

Mine snapped immediately back to his.

And seconds later I found my nipple tightly, just shy of painfully, clamped by the pad of his thumb to the side of his index finger, although his voice remained calm and soft.

“Answer me, little one.”

Obeying him after having been caught not having done so was not enough. I should have known he’d never allow me to get away with something like that. 

Barely able to breathe from the potent combination of the intense pleasure of him touching me this way at all and the equally intense possibility that he might very well, very easily, tip that scale over into real pain, I quickly responded, “That you wanted my eyes on yours.”

He tightened his grip just the slightest bit, but more than enough to make me gasp then bite my lip against doing so again. “And why did I tell you I wanted that?”

I could feel my face flushing unbecomingly as I answered as fast as I could, “So that you could see my pretty eyes as you – you touched me for the first time.” I did my best not to mumble the last phrase, although I certainly wanted to.

My nipple was released immediately as he slipped his index finger into the deep V of my oversized top, between my breasts, right at the first button, working it open from the inside, then pulling it to the side enough that he completely exposed the engorged, ultra-sensitive peak he’d just been attending to.

And before I could – in any way – come to terms with the fact that he was looking at my bare breast, he bent that beautiful head of his and took my nipple into his mouth, lips and tongue soothing generously over it, suckling just slightly, the fact that it had been throbbing from his potent touch only seconds earlier making it just that more sensitive to the pure, raw ecstasy he was surrounding it with now.

But he didn’t stay there long, and, although I certainly missed his mouth on me, I was kind of glad, because – as surprised as I was by the thought, I was quite sure that, if he had continued there for too much longer, I wasn’t going to be able to keep myself from climaxing, whether he wanted me to or not.

I didn’t know for sure, of course, but I had a feeling that he wouldn’t have appreciated that at all, and I was in absolutely no hurry to experience my first spanking from him.

No hurry at all.

And so I was left wanting.

He didn’t open the rest of the buttons on my top, although he did drag his fingertips down the front of it as my breath blew out of me raggedly, catching in my throat as he stopped at the hem, those beautiful fingers reaching up beneath it to hook themselves over the elastic waistband of my pajama pants, rubbing the fronts of them slowly against my tummy – which had me immediately trying to arch away from his touch, not wanting him to realize the ugly fact that my stomach was nowhere near as taut as his.

He must’ve known that just from looking at me, but there was a huge difference between that and him actually feeling its thoroughly embarrassing softness.

“Don’t move away from me, babygirl,” came his whispered command. “It’s okay to be shy and hesitant at a time like this – I understand that impulse. This is all new to you and different from how we usually are, and, in this capacity, I’m new to you, too.” 

He had misinterpreted the reason for my movement, but I didn’t feel the need to correct him, knowing he’d say something gentlemanly and positive about me that I wouldn’t be able to accept, anyway.

And he wasn’t really wrong, either. It might have been my rampant insecurities about my looks that were the foremost reason why I cringed away from his touch, but the strangeness of it was certainly a contributing factor, too – even though it was Tom and almost all of me already trusted him implicitly.

But, on the other hand, it was Tom!

I knew I’d never get over it, never be able to be casual about the blossoming intimacy between us.

He pressed his forehead to mine. “Try to remember that I am your Daddy now – by your own words - and that you are now and always will be safe with me, no matter what I do to you. I will only ever want what’s best for you. Can you feel that at all from me, my sweet one?”

My little didn’t hesitate for a second – even while in this intimate position with him, which the rest of me felt so hesitant and nervous about – to answer him, nodding my head eagerly, wanting him to know how honest I was about my answer. “Oh, yes, Sir. I think . . . “ I paused, and he didn’t say anything, silently encouraging me to trust him enough to say what I was feeling. “I think I’ve always felt that way with you, even when I wasn’t really entitled to.”

I hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until it poured over me in an obviously relieved sigh, his lips crooked upwards slightly in a gentle smile. “I’m glad – and you have always been entitled to feel that way with me. I’m very sorry I took so long for me to tell you that you were.”

How like him to apologize to me for something he had no need to apologize about.

He lifted his head enough that he could find my eyes, then he turned the hand – the fingertips of which were still hooked into my pajamas – over, and began to slide those long, gentle fingers – as well as his soft palm - down over the curve of my lower belly.

Despite his comforting, reassuring words, my hand shot out immediately – without my consent or knowledge until after the fact – to grab his wrist in a stranglehold, a weakly whimpered, “No!” escaping my lips unbidden, which I instantly wished I could recall.

Tom stopped immediately – I had to give him credit for that – those devastating blue eyes searching mine, his brow furrowed in concern. “Am I hurting you, my love?”

I shook my head, my gaze sliding away from his as he leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “Eyes,”, and I reluctantly brought them back to his.

“Are you feeling sick?”

More head shaking, but this time I managed to do it without breaking eye contact with him, despite how much I wanted to hide my blazing face from him.

Although I knew it would be ridiculously easy for him to break my hold, his hand remained where I held it, but his fingers began to stroke me slowly right where they were, just barely above my mons, touching nothing of a particularly private nature – yet – but my body reacted as if he was plunging them inside me. I groaned under my breath and writhed – somewhat stiltedly within his hold - and arched – but this time towards him, and against those sweetly exploring fingertips. 

“But you are feeling nervous and hesitant and unsettled because of where my hand is, yes?”

I nodded vehemently, panting heavily the entire time.

“And I understand that you feel that way, and why,” he said, kissing me tenderly. “I really do.”

“But . . .,” he paused, gazing longingly into my eyes, “I'm thinking you're going to have to let me, little girl.”

I mewled in protest, fingers clamping even more tightly around his wrist, as his firm, powerful words unraveled me even further.

"You must let me touch, sweetheart. It's naughty to resist, and you don't want me to have to spank you, do you?" he asked in a low rasp, somehow managing to sound reluctant at the thought.

I was wholly unprepared for the full body shiver his words inspired in me. I moaned – trying unsuccessfully to keep it under my breath as much as possible - now trying to crane my lower body away from him again at the imposition of his will, but at the same time, shaking my head. 

"N-noo," I breathed raggedly, my embarrassment at having to answer that question about him spanking me overwhelming my urge to hold myself away from him, so that I ended up leaning forward, trying to bury my face against the hard muscles of his chest and getting nothing but a sore nose and a dizzying lungful of his clean, decidedly masculine scent.

His "I didn't think so," rumbled deeply through his chest and into my ears. “Let go of my wrist, babylove, and put your hand behind you – at the small of your back. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you’re not to move it again.”

He wanted me to voluntarily let go of him and leave myself completely defenseless against him?

I wasn’t at all sure that I could do that, and my doubts must’ve shown on my face.

One eyebrow rose slightly as he looked deeply into my eyes and said, “Don’t think about it, my beautiful darling. Just do as your Daddy says. Try to remember that you are always safe with me, even if it might not seem so to you at the time.”

And I knew he wasn’t going to wait forever for me to obey him. I was kind of surprised that he’d waited as long as he did.

My eyes searched his for a second longer, adoring the bottomless well of pure love and acceptance I found there, and I felt something relax deep within me just before my fingers released him all at once, then – slowly - found a surprisingly comfortable spot tucked behind my back.

Tom kissed my lips gently, undemandingly.

“That’s my very, very good girl.”

I think I would have done anything he asked in order to hear those words from him again, even though they made me blush again.

“I know that was an extremely hard thing I asked you to do. You’re very brave, you know.” That hand began to move as he spoke, lips hovering tantalizingly above mine, slightly callused fingertips delving slowly – very slowly – between my legs to discover my most intimate parts. “Even just lying here with me, like this . . . I know it’s not something you do casually, even without your little being involved, and since she is, it makes it just that much more precious and special to me that you trust me enough to submit to me like this.”

I felt his eyes on me, avidly watching my every reaction, as his hand laid claim to all of me at once, cupping me tenderly but possessively at the same time. He bowed his head for a short moment and I had the sudden feeling that he was trying to keep himself in check, then raised it and caught my eyes as one long, strong finger parted my lips for the first time, seeking and finding my clit, feeling how swollen and engorged it was, slick with the undeniable evidence of my desire for him, he vowed huskily. “I will always be very aware of the treasure that you are, and the gifts you give to me that are of yourself, like this, and thus they are absolutely priceless to me, as you are.”

Then he stroked me, just once, deliberately, dragging that slightly raspy pad over every bit of that straining little nub – over the top and then curling around the sides - and I was sure I was going to come apart right then and there - that I’d be flung over that painfully pleasurable edge in a second if he just didn’t stop –

But of course he did.

And it was then that I noticed that he was at least as excited as I was – I could see that his pupils were dilated so that he barely had any blue left at all in his eyes, and his chest was heaving almost as rapidly as mine was, although I wasn’t doing anything to him.

He didn’t seem to want me to, and I wasn’t at all sure I could at this point whether I could, even if he’d asked me to. He was rock hard beneath me – there was no way to miss how the hard length beneath my hip had grown, and the last thing I wanted him to think of me as was a selfish lover, so, although I knew my face was a flaming red throughout it, I used his pause to ask, “Tom – Sir – “ swallowing hard, “don’t you want me to – “ I changed tactics mid-sentence, “may – may I touch you?”

His smile was almost rueful as he replied, “If you touched me now, I’d go off like a rocket. No, honey girl, I thank you for the offer, but this time is just for you. I don’t want my own desires distracting me from concentrating on you - from learning everything I can about what you like – how you move – what you sound like while I’m stroking you.”

And he did, again, very slowly, being even more devastatingly thorough this time than the last. I heard his breath catch when he realized just how wet I was for him, watching his eyes drift shut as my own did uncontrollably when his finger found its way back to worry my clit for a long few seconds, then stop again, remaining there, but no longer moving.

I was so close I thought I was going to explode, but I managed – somehow – not to, although my hips opened further and rocked up against him – or tried to. He wasn’t holding his hand stiffly enough, so every time I canted my hips towards him, his hand just went with them, and I got nothing out of it, which just made me that much more frustrated.

“You sound close,” he stated, in a questioning tone.

The groan that escaped my lips at that point was my entire answer, the only one I was physically capable of supplying at the moment, making him chuckle softly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” My eyes locked on his as he stared down at me. “I meant to draw this out for you – to make you wait – but I might have mercy on you, because I so want to see you in the throes of the passion that I’ve created within you.”

I was panting so hard I thought I might faint.

But, although he was breathing very heavily, Tom wasn’t having that problem, and I knew that – forget the rest of him - just that sex-dripping voice of his alone was going to be the death of me.

Especially as I listened to what he was saying, feeling more of those knowing fingers of his finding their place atop and around the center of my pleasure, engulfing me completely, so that I would be stimulated on every side at the same time.

He was still looking right at me, the huskiness of his tone another raspy touch everywhere on my body – inside and out. “I will always remember the night you confessed so sweetly and shyly to me that you're loud in bed. I went iron hard right then at the thought of hearing you cum and I'm surprised you haven't noticed that my condition hasn’t changed a bit since.”

Then he kissed me deeply, tongue a bit tentative at first, but becoming much bolder as I melted beneath his mouth.

When he raised his head, his voice was so deep, his tone so primitive that I felt as if it was his mouth on my clit rather than his fingers. “I'm going to keep you in my arms - facing me like this – your eyes on mine the entire time - while I make you cum.” Then he added, “And you are not allowed to stifle any of your responses to me - ever. I don’t care if you render me deaf – if you feel like screaming, then that’s what I want you to do. You no longer have control over your body, little girl - your Daddy does, and I can make you scream any time I want to – and I will never hesitate to do so, although sometimes for very different reasons.”

Tom drew a deep breath. “This time, it’s because I’m bringing you pleasure.”

And then his hand began to move on me, fingers fluttering delicately at first, then settling into a truly devastating rhythm that reduced me to a mindless wanton in a matter of a few seconds.

Although I was very close to that metaphorical death, a part of me gazed in wonderment at him – at how he was reacting to the act of bringing me to bliss. It was almost as if our situations were reversed, as if he was the one being brought off rather than me. He was panting and moaning, too, as if he was responding just as acutely as I was to what he was doing to me - and how I was reacting – hips thrusting up against me more and more fiercely, as if he was going to cum, too.

He drank in my sighs, lips hovering millimeters above mine, breathing in the heady sounds of my pleasure, drinking in my cries of agonized ecstasy as he brushed and curled his fingertips slowly, deliberately, over and over the part of me that was so very desperate for his touch and so completely wrecked by his every subtle movement.

And just as I was reaching that crest – the one from which there would be no return, no ability to pretend that this hadn’t happened between us, the one that I knew would reduce me to a quivering, blubbering mass in his arms – he whispered, “You may cum now, babygirl, whenever you can. Cum in your Daddy’s arms. Cum for your Daddy, babylove.”

The combination of his words, his reactions and the magic that his hand was working between my legs – even sitting demurely beneath my pajama bottoms as it was - only seemed to ratchet the level of my pleasure beyond anything I’d ever experienced before.

I began contracting while he was saying those last words to me, my body anticipating a little ahead of my mind, which I worried might dampen my climax.

But I had never been so wrong about anything in my life.

Instead, it rose even further, so that when my mind and my body and his voice and his fingers and those eyes – those stark, wide open eyes that – if I had had a brain I would have noticed looked a bit watery – all merged together, I experienced the most powerful, the most thrilling, mind-body orgasm I’d ever had, losing myself more completely in those long, devastatingly pleasurable moments than I had ever before allowed myself to with anyone, his attitude and demeanor making me feel secure enough with him – even so early on – to do so.

To completely, utterly let myself go, to give myself over to it.

To him, and what he had wrought within me.

Long before I had even begun to recover from the ecstatic devastation I’d suffered at his behest, his fingers sought and found more of the slickness I knew was pooling beneath me, to begin to flicker over me again, slipping more demandingly over me than they had, concentrating in certain spots he had obviously already learned were my most sensitive, and easily sending me into another maelstrom of bliss, and then another right after it, never easing up, not allowing me to recover from one massive orgasm before determinedly guiding me into yet another, all the while watching me raptly, avidly, his eyes never leaving mine.

I had never felt so helpless in my life – my body was – as he’d warned - truly no longer under my own control. He could already play me like a master – and did so with no compunction, wringing climax after climax from me until I almost moved my hand to stop him, but somehow managed not to.

“Please – S- Sir – no – no more!”

There was something slightly unsettling about the smile that his lips curved into, and the thought popped into my head that I could see more than a little Loki in him at this moment. “Are you sure, my darling girl? I do so adore watching you like this. This is you at your purest – your essence – truly unfettered and vulnerable and so unbelievably responsive! It’s very addictive; I find myself quite reluctant to let it end.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say beyond begging and panting exhaustedly.

“Sir – no – more – please – I – can’t!”

That smile grew bigger, and even more disconcerting. “I would bet that you can, but if you need some time to recover . . . “

I found myself crushed in his arms, held tightly to him, my face buried against the side of his neck as he held and rocked me, and I immediately dissolved in a helplessly quivering mass, unable to discern which way was up any more, clinging to him as the only real, solid thing in my world.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the last chapter of the core story, although I have another chapter in mind - a belated Valentine's Day story - for the series.
> 
> It's definitely NSFW - more so than the rest of the story combined.
> 
> I have to stay that I've been both very astonished and very humbled by the reception this story has gotten. Thank you to everyone who left kudos and/or was brave enough to leave a comment. Feedback is the life's blood of an author.

He demanded absolutely nothing from me in those moments when I was trying – unsuccessfully I might add – to recover from what he’d done to me, simply holding me and murmuring barely there nothings, rubbing his hand up and down my back soothingly – which was the way this whole thing had started – and occasionally kissing my cheek or forehead with a very real reverence that made me blush.

“You are phenomenal, little girl, every single bit of you.  I can barely believe that you’re mine, but you are now, and I will never, ever let you go.”

I moved my head – just the slightest bit, which was all I could do – my mouth open to try to respond to his extravagant praise, but he stopped me with a finger laid across my lips.  “You needn’t say or do anything, sweetheart.  Nothing I’m going to say right now requires a response from you.  You just relax and rest.”

Despite my attempt, I honestly couldn’t have done anything more than that if I’d wanted to.  All coherent thought had fled my brain, and my body was somehow – despite the ferocity of the storms I’d just weathered with him – still pulsing, still aching, still craving –

And his hand was _still_ there.

Right _there_.

Fingers lax now, unmoving.

Until, suddenly, they weren’t any more.

My moan of disbelief – laced with a heavy dose of exhaustion – was no deterrent to him at all.

He kissed me hungrily, then, whispered into my ear, “I think you need at least one more, my littlest girl.”

If I had been at full strength, I might have actively fought him.  But I knew if I tried to in this state, it would just look like I was writhing ecstatically – encouraging him.

And, seconds later, I was.

This time it was even worse – more indescribably, inconceivably intense - because I was already so terribly sensitive to his every movement.

Those eager, fine fingers found the source of my honey, sinking themselves slow and deep while he avidly watched me trying to come to grips with their presence as his thumb began to work itself back and forth over my still engorged, still hungry button.

“Christ, you’re tight!” he groaned as my body spasmed helplessly around him – not yet in pleasure, quite, but in the way of trying to accustom itself to his presence - although he made no accommodations for that as he began to fuck me – hard - his mouth finding mine as his hips jerked beneath me – almost in rhythm with his fingers - but he still made no move to find his own release, preferring instead, to concentrate on mine.

And as I would quickly learn with him, one more was never enough.

Nor was two.

At five I was reduced to begging him to stop again.

But it was two more – two of the hardest yet – before he relented and granted me mercy.

Somewhere in my mind – in the last cells that were still able to function – I figured he was probably going to take me into his bedroom and have me properly at some point. I could feel his cock twitching beneath me even when he wasn’t exploring me intimately, his hips constantly, gently pulsing the same way I was in the aftermaths.

And I got some of it right – he did lift me in his arms - but not to take me to bed, at least not at first.

Instead, he brought me to his enormous bathroom and undressed first me, then himself, putting us both under the hot shower spray.  I turned towards it, reaching listlessly for the soap to begin washing myself, but he took it away from me, turning me towards him instead.

“Normally, I’d put you in a bath, but I don’t want to be that far away from you right now.”

I nodded dreamily, standing there, as docile as a lamb, and letting him do whatever he wanted with me, drowning quite happily in how wonderful it felt to be so completely, exhaustedly sated and yet so completely tended to at the same time.

I had been rendered so thoroughly mindless by how satiated he had made me that I wasn’t even worrying about being naked in front of him.

I would never have thought that possible moments before.

I think some of that was because I don’t think that I have ever felt quite so cosseted, so thoroughly, gently cared for.  He washed me – everywhere – making me shudder when his slickened fingers found my clit again but didn’t linger – then my hair, too, guiding me under a somewhat separate spray to rinse it while he only took the minimum amount of time on himself before standing next to me again and more actively rinsing the shampoo out of my hair than I was able – or interested – in doing.

When he led me out of the shower, he turned on the very powerful heating lights above us, then wrapped me in a big, warm towel, fresh from the warming bar, bundling my hair in another, and drying me thoroughly – not hesitating in the least to kneel before me, working down each of my legs and taking each foot in his hand to dry carefully - before applying a towel to my hair, too. Between that and the lights, it was nearly dry by the time he was done, despite its length and thickness.

From there, he led me into his bedroom, leaving me near the bed but not on it to rummage through one of his drawers, coming up with something I’d never seen before.

A new pair of pajamas.

They were pastel pink, with cartoon kittens and puppies all over them who were either holding or playing with patchwork hearts, as well as a pair of cute pink panties with hearts all over them that matched the color of the pj’s perfectly.

He looked almost sheepish as he began to dress me in them.  “I noticed your little pajamas the first night you stayed over, and I found these online the next day – I couldn’t resist buying them.  I always meant to give them to you for your birthday or Christmas or whatever, but I could never quite work up the nerve to do so.”

They were just slightly oversized, which was how I always bought them, and of snuggly, warm, cotton flannel.

I was surprised when he donned a pair of pajama bottoms of his own, and it must’ve shown on my face.

“I don’t want to make love to you tonight,” he said, by way of explanation, although that really didn’t explain anything at all.

My eyes bugged.  He was fully erect, and had been for quite a while – that beautiful, long, thick cock of his bobbing – unfettered and unabashed - the entire time we were in the shower together.  But he didn’t seem inclined to do anything about it, which more than amazed me.

I didn’t get a chance to ask him about it immediately, having been distracted by the fact that he had picked me up – without so much as a strained puff of breath – and put me into his bed for the first time, setting me down under the covers on my back, then pulling them over me and joining me to slide up against my side as he tucked them – and himself - against me.

He looked down at me from where his cheek was resting on his hand.  “Feeling okay?” he asked, and I knew it wasn’t just something he was saying by rote.

I nodded, looking down, then looked up at him, trying to be brave.  “But why don’t you want to make love with me?”  As much as I tried to hold them at bay, my big’s self-doubts were always in the background, but they blazed a trail to the front of my brain all of a sudden, and were a big, blatant part of that question.

And, of course, he recognized that – although I don’t think he realized just to what extent they’d overtaken me until after he’d made his explanation to me.

Tom took my hand and kissed the back of it, brushing the hair out of my eyes lazily as he spoke. “I want you desperately, you know.  I know you can tell that – it’s less easy for a man to hide his interest.  But tonight is for you.  I probably won’t be able to hold myself off tomorrow morning, when I wake up and you’re all warm and sleepy beside me.  And I worry that I’ve thrown so much at you in one night – I admit I’m feeling a bit insecure myself, and that makes me want to overwhelm you with the good things about how our life will be – orgasms being primary - but also showing you that I will put my own needs and desires aside, without hesitation, to take care of you.”

I don’t think my response was at all what he expected it to be at those lovely, obviously very heartfelt words, since I burst into tears.

I couldn’t see him, but his tone was – at first – horrified – he reacted like any man would when his woman begins to cry hysterically for no apparent reason.

But that didn’t last long – no more than a few seconds.  He stopped after one very heartfelt, “Oh my God, I’m sorry!” and sat up a bit, pulling me into his arms.  Even though I tried to resist him, it was pathetically easy for him to overcome my efforts and bend me to his will, capturing me against him and wrapping me up impossibly tight against him.

But then he proceeded to do everything right.  He didn’t try to shush me or promise me the moon if I’d just stop crying, and he didn’t try to get me to explain while I was still weeping hysterically.  He just held and rocked me, kissing the top of my head occasionally, and stroking my hair – he just let me be, let me cry, while also letting me know that he was absolutely there for me, not making any demands or having any expectations for my behavior and allowing me the time – if not the space, exactly – to cry it out.

When I was quieter, but still snuffling, he handed me a tissue and let me blow my nose, but kept me close the entire time, and when I was done, he hauled me back into his arms.

“All right?”

“No!” I exploded with a load of pent up angst.  “I am _not_ all right.  How could you possibly – who are you to be so fucking perfect?  Jesus H Christ!  Everything you say, everything you do – it’s as if I made you up in my head and this is a dream, or a daydream or something, that I’m definitely going to wake up from, because it can’t possibly be true that you’re here with me like this, and you’re so fucking – “ I couldn’t come up with a better word “ – _good_ and wonderful and selfless - it’s unacceptable!  And you made me cum so hard – even when I didn’t necessarily want to –“

“Harder, then, I think,” the bastard interjected intuitively, grinning unrepentantly at my best glare, seemingly unfazed by my anger.

“And you want to be my Daddy and – “

He caught my chin and made me look at him, correcting firmly, “No, I _am_ your Daddy.  You agreed.”

I sighed, trying to move away from him, but he wouldn’t let me.

I couldn’t believe I was saying it, but it came out of my mouth anyway, to my little’s utter horror.  “That was probably a mistake.”

He went completely still, and I thought I saw his jaw set stubbornly.  His arms remained just as tight around me, but I could feel his entire body tense.  “You don’t mean that.”

My hands covered my face.  “No, I definitely do.  How can I become involved with you like this – you of all people?”

“What do you mean, ‘me of all people’?” he sounded vaguely insulted.

From behind the relative safety of my hands, I mumbled, “You’re – you’re just unbelievably wonderful.  I know I sound like a drooling fangirl, but you really are.  You’ll make someone an amazing Daddy, I know.”

I should have realized that his unnatural stillness – Tom was rarely still – was a warning, if not that then his crisp, scolding tone of voice, but I was too involved in my own misery to notice either of those things before he said, “I’m _your_ Daddy, and I have exactly _zero_ interest in being anyone else’s.”  I also didn’t notice that his demeanor had changed, becoming firmer – distinctly _sterner_ \- than he had ever been around me before.

“But how could you possibly be mine?  You’re gorgeous and beautiful and I’m a troll at best, even when I try.  You’re smart and funny and kind and sweet to everyone you meet, and I’m a socially awkward, anti-social bitch most of the t – Wait, what are you doing?  _STOP_!”

But he was resolute.  Tom – for all his blatant marvelousness – could be a tad stubborn.  He wanted me over his lap – where I least wanted to be – and that, of course, was where I ended up, seconds later, no matter how hard I tried not to – and I did, believe me!

And, before I could say or do anything, he stripped my jammie pants and panties down to my ankles and I was laid bare before him from the waist down – except for the big paw that – not surprisingly – covered a large percentage of what I’d always thought of despairingly as the acreage that was my bottom - when it wasn’t in the air preparing to descend on said bottom like the wrath of God.

“I _believe_ I’ve already _spoken_ to you about _putting_ yourself _down_ , and how _that_ will _not_ be _tolerated_.  It’s one of _your primary rules_ , and you would _do well_ to _remember_ that, or _you’re_ going to _end up_ right _here_ , _every single time_ , getting _your bottom_ worn _out_ until _you learn to obey me_.”

I was ready to beg for forgiveness from the very first swat, but what I got – just during the lecture – was close to twenty five hard, heavy swats.

And it didn’t stop there.

By the time his palm stopped connecting rudely with my bottom, I swear I could feel the heat rising off it myself, and I knew it had to be crimson from his efforts.  It hurt just for him to breathe down on it.

But that wasn’t a problem for very long, because I soon found myself flipped expertly onto my back, the panties that remained hanging off of one foot swept away – bottoms having long since been lost while I was kicking and bucking – to no avail - as he spanked me – his own bottoms joining them on the floor.

While I was still sniffling and weeping a little, he rolled onto me, sitting back on his knees between legs that were forced to spread around him before he grabbed an ankle in each hand and pressed them back as he leaned towards me, positioning the big head of his cock against me, its pulsing presence demanding entrance.

All while watching my face, he then placed a knee over each broad shoulder and pushed forward, but he was so big and I was so tight that he didn’t get very far at first - despite the fact that I could feel that I was gushing all around him – my body trying to ease his possession of me without my permission.

Dear God, it had been so long since I’d felt a man inside me – and he was so much a man that my body was fighting itself to be able to accommodate his heavy thrusts, my muscles literally quivering around him as he inched his way into me, not stopping until I was uncomfortably full of him and he was in me to the hilt.

But I couldn’t really say he was hurting me.

It was the tiniest bit painful, but that was way, way in the background, eons behind the stark pleasure of being so intimately – so demandingly – stretched, feeling so completely and utterly taken by him, his hairy thighs rubbing against my sore bottom every time he rocked himself into me.

Even that felt amazing, not that I would ever admit it.

I could see that it was taking everything he had to hold himself back once he’d claimed every inch of me, but he did, drawing a long, slow breath and asking in a raw growl between gritted teeth, “Are you okay?”, proving once again that he was a man of his word, ruthlessly shoving his own needs aside in favor of assuring himself that I was all right.

“Yes,” I whispered, tears flowing down my cheeks and into my hair for an entirely different reason now – pain no longer the inspiration for my tears.  Instead, it was how very profound this felt to me, how deeply he had touched me, how incredibly right this felt, regardless of my myriad doubts about it.

As he surged into me – his power and strength evident in every stroke – he reached up to cup my cheek, brushing away my tears with the side of his thumb before capturing my wrists and pinning them - in one hand - above my head as I whimpered pitifully in protest, reaching down to adjust himself slightly, so that his pubic bone rubbed against my clit every time he moved, then began to hammer himself into me fiercely, forcing me to a peak I would have sworn I couldn’t attain, then, as he reached his own pinnacle, tipping me over into the ether yet again as he sprayed my insides with himself, screaming my name at the same time, as I did his.

Only _not_ his.

Because I didn’t scream “Tom”.

. . .

I screamed “ _DAAAAAADDDDDDDDDY_!” at the top of my lungs as I clenched and contracted mindlessly around him.

His hips continued to snap his still hard cock into me for a few long seconds afterwards, as he hung his head and the breath bellowed out of him and over me.

My eyes were closed, my mind again reduced to a useless puddle of goo as he released my wrists and rolled off me, moving my legs down for me, each of them individually, massaging gently as he did so, and doing the same thing with my shoulders, then gathering me to him, ignoring my protestations when I tried to wrestle myself away, or at the least, out of his hold.

“No, baby, I have to have you near me,” he murmured against my temple, keeping me tight in his arms even after I stopped struggling.  “There’s so much I want to say to you, but I can’t talk right now.  You’ve done what everyone who knows me would say could never be done – you’ve rendered me speechless.  I just need to hold you.”

And so he did.  We were silent for quite a while as he stroked me gently here and there as our breathing returned to normal.

Eventually, though, he began to speak directly into my ear, his voice low and choked with emotion.

“Considering what you said to me, I know it would have been the gentlemanly thing to do to not have made love to you – to have stuck to my original intent and waited till morning - and now – having clearly not been able to keep myself from doing so - to simply let you go.”  He paused there, and I could feel him steeling himself for what he was about to say.  “That would be the wonderful, nice, polite thing I should do.  But I can’t.  I _won’t_.”  He swallowed hard enough for me to hear it.  “I’ve waited so long to have you – loving you from afar, worrying about you when I’m gone when I have no real right to beyond that of a friend, or when I know you’re down and I can’t get to you for whatever reason . . . I know you know I’m not the perfect person the press and my fans paint me to be.  I’m just another completely fallible bloke who’s trying to make his way in this world.  I might be nicer than some, but I can be just as much of an idiotic asshole as the next guy.”

I knew he was being serious, but I couldn’t help but chuckle softly, explaining quickly before he got offended, “I’m sorry – I just think it’s so you to try to convince me to stay with you by confessing to me that you’re sometimes an idiotic asshole.”

He blushed at that, looking down for a moment.  “I know, but you seem to think I’m some kind of saint, but I’m really not.  And you’ve seen what I look like first thing in the morning – you know I’ve got bed head and morning breath and I look like a train wreck.”

His head came up and I rolled my eyes at him at that, but I was smiling as I did it.

But then he stared at me, straight in the eye, not smiling in return.  “But I also know that you can see past all of that, that you see the man that I really _am_.”  He took my hands in his.  “I’m a man who loves you with his whole heart, with every single bit of him, and who, I think, understands you pretty well – especially some aspects that others might not.”

I knew he was talking about my little, but I didn’t interrupt him.

“I know you feel insecure – I feel it, too – more often than you probably think I do – and I will do everything in my power to try to help you reduce those feelings – maybe even get rid of them altogether.  I’m not trying to sweep them under the rug – I’m very aware of them.  But – “  Tom took a deep breath and sighed.

“ - you gave yourself to me tonight.  I don’t think you have any idea what that means to me.  You gave me parts of you that you’ve already told me you don’t usually even let most men know _exist_ within you.  And I won’t ignore that in favor of concentrating on the doubts either one of us might have about us.  It seems to me that we’ve created a very special thing here, you and I, something that most people don’t have and might never have in their lives, and might not even realize that they’re missing.  I love you – _all_ of you – and you certainly had to know that I lust after you to the point that I can’t control myself, having taken you moments after I’d just crowed to you that I wasn’t going to.”

My cheeks flushed again at the earnestness of his tone – and because I did know, maybe deep down more than in my consciousness, that he _did_ want me.  Desperately.

“I have you now – I’ve _had_ you now – and I’m _not_ going to give you up.”  One hand trailed down my back to cup a still quite sore cheek, squeezing deliberately.  “I’m not going to allow insecurities – on either side – to stop us from having what I know will be the best thing in our lives – because to me, it already is.”  He searched my eyes.  “You’re my best friend, and my little girl and my lover, all rolled into one thoroughly wonderful package.  And I intend to revel in every second of loving you, and taking excruciatingly good care of you – your littlest _and_ your biggest parts - watching over you, and punishing you when you need it, and laying you across my big bed –“ he said, beginning to do just that, arranging me diagonally across it to lay atop me, stretching his long length out over me and insinuating his legs between mine. “ – and making you scream and beg me to stop whenever the mood strikes me,” he murmured against my breast with a mischievous smile as he began to drag his lips down my body, leaving a moist trail of kisses across my belly, not allowing me to move away or do anything to hide it from him, and giving me a stern look when I tried to.

I was practically hyperventilating as he moved further down and spread me before him like a feast, his eyes devouring me, mouth hovering above the spot on my body that was literally quivering for his touch.

“Oh, God, Daddy – “

His head lifted just as his lips would have captured my not so little clit.

“Say that again, little girl,” he commanded in his deepest tone.

“What?”  I was even more brainless than usual.  “Oh, God –“

“No.”

I flushed practically to the point of faintness when I realized what it was that he wanted me to repeat.

“Daddy,” I said, softly - shyly almost, surprised to see him shudder as I did.

“If I hadn’t already been cumming when you screamed it at your peak a few minutes ago, it would have hurtled me over the edge,” he confessed, gazing at me as if I hung the moon.  “You were a very good girl to do that for your Daddy.  I think I’ll need to you to do it at least two or three times a day.”

“A day?!” I repeated, stunned.

“At least,” he confirmed, bending down to lick his broad, wet tongue over me, as if I was a particularly satisfying lollipop.  “More than that when we’re on holiday together – as long as you’re being a good girl.”

 “And,” he murmured, settling his mouth directly over and against my clit, “even when you’re at your naughtiest, you will _always, always, always_ be my good little girl.”


End file.
